DIVA: Jetbird and the Kid #6

[deucexm]

What are the odds of this one happening? 1:1, apparently. I don't question how 
free my pen has become, I just enjoy it and keep writing. Hope you do too (both).

'ahh, the action is almost here and I look forward to it.'
- Scott Eiler, 17 April 2016, commenting on part 5

Hey, remember when I used to do these little border things?  I like them.

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Jetbird Leone and the Black Mamba Kid: A DiVerse Alpha Chronicle 
by Felix 

Chapter 6: Talons and Fangs

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'Truly sorry' was what passed for a code phrase between Jetbird and the Kid.

The Leone son might have lost his cynicism at the Black Pillar, but despite what
anyone else might say, he could still tell when a situation was going poorly.
Any time he said those words, it was his notice to the Kid that things had
finally gotten out of hand; that talking was over, and it was time for action.

“Sorry, are you? Not as sorry as you /will/ be when-” And the hitman's threats
turned to a startled yelp, then to a pained screech after the Kid spat a small
spray of acid into his face with near-perfect aim. "Ah! Ahhhh! Ahh, it burns, it
burns!"

Jetbird reached under his jacket and quickly slipped his hands into the Talons,
his mechanical fingerless fighting gloves. "I hope that's not permanent," he
remarked, just loud enough for the Kid to hear over the thug's screaming as he
loaded a few pressure cartridges.

"Just a distraction," the Kid returned with a slick little backward shuffle, "it
won't last that long. Your ball now, Cor." Quick as a whip, his hands went under
his own leather coat and reappeared with the Fangs attached, a matched set of
dull gray injectors sharp enough to pierce just about anything and deliver
whatever mixture the Kid had loaded.

With a quiet click, Jetbird readied his fists. "Well then, I reckon I'd best
make it a slam dunk!"

The hitman flailed about blindly, having found that clawing at his face did
nothing for the pain, but wild swings - against two opponents who were prepared
- simply weren't going to connect, no matter how much force was behind them (and
there was quite a lot). Then after one swing, before he had time to react, he
felt a small, heavy weight pressed into his side.

"Please sit down," Jetbird said quietly, and squeezed the trigger.

Despite the name, the Talons weren't generally piercing weapons. Particularly at
the moment, where the Leone son had set them up with solid metal plates over the
knuckles, which would extend a short distance - quite rapidly indeed! - when
triggered by a pressure cartridge, a small explosive charge that the Kid cooked
up. The sound of it going off was like someone hitting a railway rail with a
crowbar (and probably felt about the same, too).

The sound was a bit muffled this time, but the Talon still made a solid CLANG;
and with a wheeze of breath, folding like a dropped sack of vegetables, the
hitman sat down.

"I do wonder how Ms. Lawson's getting on," drawled the Kid, "seeing as how we
had a visitor. I've a mind to go check on her, once we're /finished/ here." He
spun the chambers on the Fangs with an ominous little whirr.

That was a lot of words for the normally quiet Kid, Jetbird noted with some
concern, who was evidently displeased with the state of things - or just worried
about the Lawson lady. "Well, maybe our visitor here could do with a little
nap?" he suggested amicably. "It is getting quite late, after all; discussion
can wait 'til the morning, wouldn't you say?"

The Kid's fingers twitched, ever so slightly, and then he relaxed. "Naps do a
body good," he conceded, a little reluctantly, changing from one chamber to the
next before walking over and jabbing the still-wheezing hitman's thigh with one
Fang, provoking a quiet groan. The injection was soundless, just the way the Kid
wanted; no hissing, no bubbling, no theatrics.

After a moment he pulled the dull gray metal out, and after another moment the
hitman slumped over on one side, his breathing evening out and becoming more
regular. "Reckon we're done here - for now."

Jetbird nodded firmly, kneeling briefly to remove the man's fist weapons and
then storing them in the chest. No point taking chances, after all. "Then we'd
best be on our way. Ms. Miriam seems capable enough, but I'd rather be /certain/
our client is in good health."

The Kid's hands, and their Fangs, vanished beneath the brown leather coat.
"Likewise."